Twilight (18 page)

“With the lovely
señora?
”

Rick nodded.

“You are treading on dangerous turf with that one,
mi amigo.
”

Tico wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already thought a thousand times. “Tell me about it,” Rick said with an air of resignation.

“It happens that way sometimes,” Tico observed wryly. “All you can do then is hang on for the ride.”

Based on the ups and downs so far, Rick was pretty certain it was going to be a roller coaster.

18

“H
e said he would be here and he will be,” Marco insisted as Dana muttered under her breath about Rick’s failure to appear at the ad agency at four o’clock.

“I’m delighted you have such faith in him,” she retorted, “but it’s after four now. Where is he?”

“Caught up in traffic,” Rosa suggested distractedly as she peered at her faint reflection in the glass covering a huge poster of one of the agency’s hottest current print campaigns. “Are you certain I do not look like a blimp in this dress?”

Though she wanted to rail against broken promises, Dana forced herself to concentrate on the nervous young woman. “You look like a beautiful woman who is carrying a baby.”

Rather than being reassured, Rosa sighed. “I do look like a blimp.”

“I promise you your figure will come back right after the baby is born,” Dana told her.

“Maybe we should make this appointment for then,” Rosa said worriedly. “No one will hire me looking like this.”

“A maternity clothes manufacturer would,” a male voice interrupted with quiet authority.

Dana glanced into the opened doorway and saw Ted Hanson grinning at her. He was an extraordinarily sophisticated man with an eye for beauty and a genius for selling, but he looked like anything but that.

His prematurely gray hair was curly. Blue eyes twinkled mischievously behind wire-framed glasses. When he wasn’t making major presentations to stuffy corporate officials, he dressed as he had today—in jeans and chambray shirts over colorful T-shirts. Today’s shade was purple. Not mauve or eggplant, but brilliant purple.

He crossed the room in three strides to scoop Dana up into an exuberant bear hug.

“I’m so sorry about Ken,” he told her again, his eyes reflecting a genuine sorrow. “When I heard about it, I was just sick. I apologize again for not getting back for the funeral. I was on a photo shoot in Italy. It just wasn’t possible.”

“I got the flowers and the note. That was more than enough.”

He examined her face intently. “You’re doing okay?”

She flushed under the knowing scrutiny. “Well enough,” she said. “Come, let me introduce you to two friends. Marco, this is Ted Hanson.” She put an arm around Rosa’s ample waist. “And this is Rosa.”

Ted’s practiced gaze swept over the teenager, assessing her with an instinct he’d been honing for the past twenty years. “You’re perfect,” he said. “Every bit as lovely as the pictures Dana sent over. Let’s go inside. I’ll show you around and then we can talk about your future.”

Looking more than a little awestruck by Ted’s whirlwind approach, Rosa followed in his wake down a wide corridor covered with thick mauve carpeting. They passed an astonishing array of award-winning print ads immortalized in giant posters that had been lit with a touch many museums would envy.

Marco glanced at Dana as they walked, his brown eyes reflecting his own barely concealed awe. His usual arrogance and distrustfulness were nowhere in evidence. “He is very good, isn’t he?” he asked, gesturing toward the posters.

“The best.” She glanced sideways at him. “You should consider talking to him in your own behalf, as long as we’re here,” she suggested casually.

“No,” Marco said fiercely. “This is my sister’s day. She should have his undivided attention.”

Dana appreciated the sentiment, but was almost certain she heard a little wistfulness behind the words. “We’ll see,” she said.

Fighting her fury at Rick’s failure to join them, she forced herself to concentrate on the upcoming meeting. It was mostly up to her to protect Rosa’s interests, though she didn’t doubt for a minute that Ted would be fair, if only as a favor to her. They had known each other a very long time, ever since she had successfully investigated the leaks of some of his presentation plans to a competing agency. She had caught the insider who was betraying him within two weeks, preventing the loss of yet another major account.

Ted’s bouncing energy and enthusiasm were catching, as he took them on the promised tour, showing them the art department, the copywriters, the small studio where some television spots were actually shot, even an animation department, which so captivated Marco that Dana wasn’t certain they’d ever get him away from the room. While watching the work going on there, his usual sullen expression vanished, and his eyes lit with an eagerness she found charming. Then and there she resolved to encourage that unanticipated excitement. For the first time, she truly realized the seductiveness of helping someone to discover a new future. No wonder Ken had gone back to Yo, Amigo again and again.

In Ted’s office, the talk turned to jobs and fees and all of the mundane contractual details that Rosa really needed an agent or attorney to oversee.

“If she agrees to any of this today, it will have to be on the condition that a lawyer goes through every word and has the opportunity to challenge any aspect of the deal,” Dana said.

“Agreed,” Ted said at once. He turned to Rosa. “So, young lady, what do you say? Would you like to come to work for us on an exclusive basis, for say three years?”

“One,” Dana corrected. “With options.”

Ted scowled. “Two,” he countered. “We discovered her. We deserve time to make sure our investment pays off.”

Dana grinned at him. “Okay, two,” she conceded grudgingly. She had expected him to ask for five in an attempt to tie up a potentially hot commodity for the longest time possible. That he’d been more than fair proved her faith in him had been justified.

“Marco, what do you think?” Rosa asked, her eyes flashing with excitement.

He regarded her with an indulgent smile. “Mama and Papa will go ballistic, but I think you should do it if it will make you happy and will secure a future for you and the baby.”

Rosa jumped up and threw her arms around her brother, her expression relieved. “Thank you.”

Dana knew by now that Rosa would have defied him if she’d had to, but today’s thrill was even greater because Marco had joined in with his approval.

Ted looked jubilant. “Then we have a deal?”

“Looks like we do,” Dana said.

As if he’d read her mind, Ted turned to Marco. “Now, what about you, young man? You have the same excellent bone structure and interesting look as your sister. Can we sign you up today, as well?”

Even though Dana had told him the same thing, Marco looked stunned at hearing it from a professional for whom he’d already expressed admiration. “Me?” He glanced at Dana, clearly bemused that she had been right about his own potential. “Is it possible?”

Dana nodded at him encouragingly. “You should at least think about it, Marco. It’s a golden opportunity.” She slid in a suggestion she hoped would prove too alluring for him to resist. “Perhaps, you could even convince Ted to let you train in animation techniques at the same time.”

“I could do this?” Marco asked, gazing at the agency president with obvious disbelief. There was no mistaking the hint of eagerness in his expression, though.

Ted picked up on Dana’s less-than-subtle hint at once. “Absolutely. We could work it into the deal.”

“I was not so good at school,” Marco confessed. “I have no college.”

“This would be on-the-job training,” Ted reassured him. “I’ve found that it’s always easier to learn something that fascinates you. I can’t tell you the times I barely scraped by in math and science classes.”

“You?” Marco asked, shocked. “But you are a very successful man.”

“I could show you the report cards,” Ted assured him. “My mother waves them under my nose whenever she thinks I’m getting too big for my britches. It keeps me humble, she says. Think about my offer, Marco.”

Marco’s shoulders squared proudly. “I do not have to think,
señor.
I would be proud to accept this opportunity. I hope that I will not give you cause to regret it.”

“I’m sure you won’t. I look forward to working with both of you,” Ted said, coming out from behind his desk to shake Marco’s hand. Rosa jumped up and gave him an impulsive hug, then squeezed Dana hard as well.

“You have changed our lives,
señora.
”

“No,” Dana insisted. “I have just given you a helping hand. Return the favor someday to someone else.”

“That is what the
padre
always said,” Rosa said, her expression suddenly sad. “I wish he could know about this.”

“He does,” Dana said with confidence, thinking it more than likely he had guided her into the lives of these two promising young people. “I am certain that wherever he is, he knows and he is very proud of both of you.”

Rick would be proud, too, for that matter. Maybe she would tell him...right before she strangled him.

* * *

Rick sat in the most secluded booth Tico’s had to offer and kept his gaze fixed on the door. Even though the restaurant was virtually empty except for a handful of men sipping
cafe Cubano
at the counter, he wanted privacy, should anyone else come in while he was talking to Carlos.

He repeatedly glanced at his watch, noting when four o’clock came and went. Dana was going to have his head for abandoning them with no notice, especially if this Carlos person never showed and he had no news to report to her.

It was four-fifteen by the time an obviously nervous young man entered the restaurant. His gaze darted from table to table, assessing the risks, Rick imagined. When Tico broke away from a conversation behind the counter, Rick knew that the new arrival was Carlos. Tico gestured toward the booth, and the man swaggered down the narrow aisle and slid in opposite him.

His face was pockmarked and a line of tattoos ran up his forearm, but otherwise he was unremarkable. With his olive complexion, black hair and dark eyes, he was interchangeable with half of the twenty-five-year-olds on the streets of the barrio. Even his dress was moderately conservative—chinos and a T-shirt worn under a leather jacket.

“You are Carlos?” Rick asked.

“Sí.”

“I’m Rick Sanchez.”

“I recognize you.”

“Tico tells me you might know something about a matter that is of great importance to me, the murder of a friend of mine.”

Carlos shrugged. “I might. Tell me about this person.”

“He was a minister from the suburbs. He became a friend to all of us at Yo, Amigo. He helped many of the young people here. He was a good man, Carlos, a decent man. He didn’t deserve to die. The police believe he was a victim of random violence, a drive-by shooting that went awry.”

Carlos gestured dismissively. “The police are idiots. It is easier to blame chance than to admit they do not control these streets.”

“Have they questioned you?”

A smirking grin played about the other man’s lips. “I am very careful. They do not even know I exist. I prefer to keep it that way.”

Rick wondered about that. In his experience, the police frequently knew—or at least suspected—far more than they were able to act on. He had been surprised to discover just how much they knew about the inside workings of his own gang, once he had eventually broken free of its ties.

“What have you heard about this shooting?” he asked, careful not to imply that Carlos had any direct responsibility for it.

Carlos studied him intently, as if sizing him up and analyzing the dangers he might represent. “You say this man was good, but he had at least one enemy,” he said eventually. “Someone was willing to pay a lot of money to see that he died.”

“How much money?”

“Fifty thousand.”

Rick had to work to cover his astonishment. He had anticipated some penny-ante crime, a quick hit for enough money to buy another supply of crack. Fifty thousand dollars was big business. How the hell had Ken Miller made such a deadly serious enemy?

“Who, Carlos? Who was behind this?”

“I cannot answer that.”

Rick’s last thread of patience snapped. He reached across the table and grabbed a fistful of the other man’s shirt. “Who, dammit?”

Carlos’s eyes darkened dangerously as he broke Rick’s grip. His fingers dug into Rick’s flesh painfully in a duel for supremacy.

“You will never do such a thing again,
comprende?
” he demanded in a tight voice.

For the moment, because it was prudent, Rick backed off. “Sorry. My friend is dead. I’m sure you can see how I might overreact. Tell me everything you know. I will keep you out of it. You and I...” He shrugged. “If anyone asks, we have never met.”

“That is very wise, but I am afraid I have no other answers for you. I never saw this person who paid so much for your friend’s death. I heard only a voice on the phone. The money was where I was told it would be. Anonymity protects everyone when you conduct business as I do. I am sure you can see that.”

Every fiber of Rick’s being wanted to grab this slime by the throat and squeeze the information out of him, but he knew it would be of no use. Carlos had told him as much as he would, perhaps even as much as he could.

He knew far more than he did a half hour ago. He knew that Ken had had a powerful enemy, someone who had intended that he die that night. Carlos had confirmed once and for all that Ken’s murder had not been an accident, a case of mistaken identity.

And if those drugs that had been planted in Ken’s office were any indication, the danger hadn’t died with him. It was still very much alive, and that meant that Dana could very well become the next victim.

19

I
t was dark by the time Dana arrived home, but a full moon created eerie shadows on the snow-covered ground. The unsettling atmosphere suited her mood perfectly. Her emotions were all over the place. She was ecstatic for Rosa and Marco one minute and furious with Rick the next, then despondent when she thought of what Ken had missed today, of all that he would miss in the future.

The first was understandable. The two young people were getting the chance of a lifetime, and she knew in her heart that they would make the most of it. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction that she had played some small role in changing their lives.

She could almost feel Ken beside her, reminding her that good deeds built character and made the world a better place. It was almost as if by helping Rosa and Marco, she had given a gift to Ken, as well—an admission that withholding her support from his work at Yo, Amigo had been wrong. Her understanding of his commitment had deepened, and her love for him had never been stronger.

And yet...

She sighed. And yet there was Rick Sanchez, infuriating her one minute, making her feel alive the next. His failure to show up—more importantly, his failure to keep his promise—had been both disappointing and unnerving. She shouldn’t be counting on him so much. He shouldn’t even be capable of disappointing her. A few days ago, he had been a despised stranger. Now...

Again, she sighed. Now he mattered in some way she couldn’t define, didn’t want to define. She feared that to do so would prove her to be disloyal to Ken.

Still feeling that vague stirring of guilt, she put the key into the lock. Then, before she could turn the key, her gaze was drawn toward the cemetery beyond the house. A stronger wave of guilt sent her in that direction. It was an overwhelming, weighty sense of guilt that led her directly to Ken’s grave. She desperately needed to connect somehow to the man she had adored, to remind herself of the eternal promise of love that had bound them.

With shaking fingers, she reached out and touched the cold marble tombstone—an open-armed, welcoming angel—that a stonemason in the congregation had worked on lovingly, day and night, to be ready for the funeral. She traced the smooth surface, remembering, as she skimmed each indentation, the words that had been carved there: Here lies an angel of God, a man of faith. Beloved husband. Beloved father.

The dates below spanned a too-brief lifetime, less than forty years. That saddened her more than anything. The world needed men like Ken, men who put others first and themselves second, men who taught compassion and understanding, men who lived by their words.

She glanced toward the bright, starlit sky and asked again, for the thousandth time, “Why?” It was a plea for understanding, a ritual incantation by now.

No answer came, though, no illumination that could make sense of the incomprehensible. There was just this terrible sense of loss, an ending that had no meaning.

She knelt in the snow, oblivious to the dampness soaking through her slacks, oblivious to the howling wind blowing off the nearby lake. Frantic now, she dug the withered flowers from beneath the snow and tossed them aside. In a motion as old as time, she smoothed the snowy surface as she would the blanket on a child’s bed. Tears tracked down her cheeks, freezing in the icy air. Her skin burned with the cold. Her fingers went numb.

“Why, dammit? Why?” she cried, pummeling the ground, the tombstone.

She waited and waited, but only the cry of the wind answered, not God. Never God.

Dimly, she became aware of a muttered curse, then the warmth of arms surrounding her, of soothing words and the whisper of breath against her cheek.

“It’s okay,” Rick murmured. “Everything is going to be okay.”

She felt herself being lifted, held against a solid chest. Instinctively, she snuggled into the heat and clung as she was carried quickly back to the house.

“Keys?”

She struggled to remember. “In the door,” she finally admitted, teeth chattering.

Inside, she was deposited in Ken’s chair. The afghan was wrapped around her, the fire lit, and still she shivered.

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

As if she could, she thought, almost numb with the cold. Only when he returned did he turn on the light, as he handed her a mug of steaming coffee. It had been laced with brandy, she realized as she gulped the fiery liquid and felt the heat shimmer through her.

“More,” he insisted.

She drank again and the feeling slowly began to come back. First in fingers and toes, then deeper inside, bringing with it an agonizing pain that no amount of heat could salve.

She finally dared to meet Rick’s gaze and was stunned by the anger blazing in his eyes. There was so much fury there, fury and something else. Fear, she concluded with some surprise.

She reached out and touched a finger to his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He shuddered, but the fear didn’t disappear as she’d intended. “What were you thinking?” he demanded. “You could have died out there.”

“It was just a few minutes,” she argued.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“Midnight?” It couldn’t be. She had gotten home hours ago.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Your car was in the driveway, but you weren’t answering the doorbell. Thank heaven I never opened the storm door and spotted the keys, or I really would have gone nuts. You scared the hell out of me as it was. I’ve talked to Kate. She’s the one who suggested I look in the cemetery. She’s frantic, too. I tried to stop her, but she’s on her way over.”

“Sorry,” Dana whispered, teeth chattering. “I had to tend to the grave.”

He stared at her incredulously. “In the middle of the night? If I hadn’t found you, you’d have been dead by morning. Are you out of your mind?”

Maybe she was, Dana thought. She thought she had reached rock bottom the day they buried Ken, but maybe she hadn’t. Maybe this was it, this not caring if she lived or died.

Rick watched her intently. “I won’t let you do it, you know.”

“Do what?” she asked shakily.

“Kill yourself. You’re going to live, dammit. And we’re going to find the person who killed Ken, and we’re going to go on, both of us.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” she said, shocked by the suggestion. She might not care if she lived or died, but she would do nothing to hasten the process, not with three sons counting on her. She would find some way to be whole again, for their sake, if not her own.

“Well, you could have fooled me,” he said, still furious. “If I have to move in here and stay with you twenty-four hours a day, you will live, Dana Miller, because that’s what Ken would want.”

As suddenly as the tirade had begun, it ended, and he dragged her into his arms. “It’s what I want,
querida,
” he said softly.

Surprised by the admission, Dana pulled back gently and looked into his eyes. “You?”

“Yes, God help me.”

He didn’t sound pleased about it, she concluded, somehow amused that this tough, streetwise man had finally come up against something he couldn’t control, namely his feelings for her. It gave them something in common. Gazing into his eyes, she admitted, finally and only to herself, that she had no more control over her own growing feelings for him.

Since she couldn’t—wouldn’t—confess as much to him, she settled for going on the attack instead. “Where were you today? You promised to meet us at the agency. You let Rosa down.”

“I let you down, too,” he pointed out, clearly grasping the real source of her irritation. “When you hear where I was, I think you’ll forgive me.”

She wouldn’t be persuaded so easily. “Don’t count on it,” she muttered.

He shrugged. “If you don’t want to hear...” he taunted.

She scowled at the teasing. “Of course I want to hear. Tell me.”

He examined her intently. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?”

“I’m well enough to flatten that attractive nose of yours if you don’t start talking.”

He grinned. “In that case—”

Before he could begin, the doorbell rang and Kate came rushing inside. She tossed her coat over a chair, revealing a mismatched outfit of sweatpants and T-shirt, proof that she’d been in a hurry. Not until she had examined Dana from head to toe and concluded that no permanent damage had been done did they get back to Rick’s news.

He described his meeting with the mysterious Carlos. Dana gaped when he told her how much had been paid for the hit on Ken.

“So much,” Kate breathed. “We’re talking serious money here.”

“Which means that we’ve stumbled into a genuine hornet’s nest,” Dana concluded, her excitement for the hunt returning. At last there was progress, a hint, if not proof, that Ken’s death had been calculated.

“But Carlos has no idea who this person was?” she asked.

“None, or so he claims,” Rick said.

“Do you believe him?”

“He’s probably telling the truth. Anyone with enough cash to pay for an execution isn’t going to want anything to connect him to it. There won’t be a paper trail, probably not even phone records. Whoever delivered the payoff is probably so far removed that even he can’t identify the person ordering the hit.”

“Do you think we’re talking drugs?” Kate asked. “Or some kind of criminal organization?”

“Drugs would be my guess,” Rick said. “Especially in light of the so-called evidence planted in Ken’s office.”

“I don’t think so,” Dana said slowly, her expression thoughtful. “It’s too pat, too obvious. Somebody wanted to muddy the waters by destroying Ken’s reputation. My guess is it’s somebody with something else to hide.”

“Such as?” Kate asked.

Dana sighed. She was too exhausted to take the next leap in logic. “I wish I knew,” she said wearily.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Kate asked, putting her coat back on.

Dana glanced at Rick. “I think it’s time we began to take a closer look at the people right here, starting with Lawrence Tremayne,” she said, knowing that her words were bound to make him happy.

To his credit, he didn’t gloat. He merely nodded his agreement. “I’d like to talk to him,” he suggested. “I have a few things I’d like to say about his plan to boot you out of this house.”

“Maybe not,” Dana said, even though she rather enjoyed this fierce, protective streak he’d developed. “This conversation requires finesse, not blazing guns.”

“I don’t even own a gun,” Rick protested.

“It was a figure of speech,” Dana told him.

Kate regarded them both with amusement. “I’ll let you two wrestle with the semantics and the details. I need my beauty sleep. See you in the morning, sweetie.” She glanced pointedly at Rick. “You, too?”

“Go,” Dana instructed before Rick could reply. “It’s already after two. Try to sleep past six, for a change.”

“Sorry. My internal alarm clock can’t be reset,” Kate said. “But I will call before I come dashing over here.” She winked. “Just in case.”

When she had gone, Dana looked at Rick. “You can leave, too.”

“No way,
querida.
Not tonight. You go up to bed. I will sleep right here on the sofa.”

The proposal raised an interesting quandary, though obviously not the one Rick assumed, judging by the determined glint in his eyes. Eventually she shook her head.

“It won’t work.”

“What won’t?” The jut of his jaw suggested he was ready to battle with her, if necessary. “If you knew how many nights I’ve slept on a far-worse sofa at Yo, Amigo, you wouldn’t worry about this.”

“It’s not that.”

His expression puzzled, he waited.

Dana drew in a deep breath. “I haven’t slept upstairs since Ken died. I’ve been sleeping right here.”

“In the chair?” he asked incredulously.

She nodded.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, and scooped her up.

Once more, she nestled against him, not even questioning what he intended. He crossed the room in three strides and started up the steps.

“Which room?” he asked at the top of the stairs.

Dana couldn’t bring herself to answer, wasn’t sure she could bring herself to cross that threshold, even with Rick’s strong arms around her.
Especially
with Rick’s arms around her.

Ignoring her silence, he simply peeked in room after room, until at last he reached the cramped master bedroom with its awful gold carpeting. He paused in the doorway and gazed into her eyes.

“Okay?”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “We can’t. Not here.”

“Shh. Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll just stay here with you until you fall asleep. You need to do this,
querida.
You need to move on.”

“I’ll be moving out soon. I’ll buy a new bed, something with a frilly canopy that Ken would never have set foot in. Then it won’t even matter.”

“It will,” he said with certainty. “I think you must face the fact that Ken is gone, that he won’t ever be back to share the most intimate part of your life.”

She understood the symbolism, the need to let go, to accept, but she wanted to protest that it was still too soon, the wound was still too raw. She could never sleep here, not with the place beside her cold and empty.

But of course, it wouldn’t be. Not if she understood what Rick was proposing, that he lay down beside her, perhaps even hold her, until sleep claimed her.

No matter how innocent the offer, though, she couldn’t accept it. It would be sacrilege to allow another man into Ken’s bed, especially a man she wanted as desperately as she wanted Rick Sanchez tonight. She couldn’t allow him to displace Ken’s memory here, of all places.

“No, please,” she protested again. “We can’t do this. There’s a guest room next door. I’ll sleep there.” She smiled wryly. “At least I’m up the stairs. It’s a start.”

Rick’s gaze locked with hers and, for a moment, she thought for sure that he would argue, but finally his expression softened, and he carried her to the nearby room.

The decor was spartan, a simple double bed with a beige chenille spread, a small oak dresser with an antique pitcher filled with dried flowers on top.

Rick gently lowered her to her feet, then reached past her to pull down the spread.